dream

i was sitting on the steps of this bus. i cant remember where i was going but i knew that i was alone. i saw this strange building with a strange name on it along the bus route and felt a deep urge to go there and meet the people living there. and suddenly a small group of people bursts out of this building and runs towards the bus. when they came closer i saw that they were a bunch of little children, all of them with scarred faces. all of them were still pretty. also there was a teacher guiding them who was a little old but with a face that spoke of lost beauty. among those children there was a little girl who was unreserved and started talking to me. she talked about the atrocity being done to them by the authorities. they were being taken to a place far away to practice tennis. they would like to play tennis in their own small ground. i sympathized with them and cursed the authorities. The teacher also joined me.
this was a dream and will remain a dream.

Unoriginality

Here I stand fraught with thoughts.
Thoughts that always add up to naughts.
Thoughts so fine.
Thoughts so not mine.
How can I write something divine?

Minutes and hours blurred in dimension.
Words and images rage without cohesion.
I need a rope to tie them down.
My confusion, I must drown.
Weighed down to the depth of the conscious.
Till the undercurrents of memory, stirs obnoxious.
Driftwood decayed and dying.
Creativity crippled and crying.

A flicker of something new
In the froth that my brain spewed.
Hidden by the stolen visions
Of genii of a higher division.
Applause for these ramblings I get.
Their sheer unoriginality I regret.

No one will forgive and every one will forget.